"Ay," she said, watching him keenly. "To the castle. Are there more castles than one? Or first, when were you there last, Father?" His look wandered, full of calculation. "Last?" he said. "When was I at the castle last?" "The truth! The truth!" she cried impatiently. He chid her, but with a propitiatory smile akin to those which the augurs exchanged. "Sister! Sister!" he said. "_Nil nisi verum clericus!_ I was there no more than an hour back." "And got your orders? And got your orders, I suppose?" she repeated with rude insistence. "Out with it, Father. I see that you are no more easy than I am!" He flung out his hands in sudden abandonment. "God knows I am not!" he said. "God knows I am not! And that is the truth, and I am not hiding it. God knows I am not! But what am I to do? He is a violent man--you know him!--and I am a man of peace. I must do his will or go. And I am better than nothing! I may"--there was a whine in his voice--"I may do some good still. You know that, sister. I may do some good. I baptise. I bury. But if I go, there is no one." "And if you go, you are no one," she answered keenly. "For your suffragan has you in no good favour, I am told. So that if you go you happen on but a sackcloth welcome. So it is said, Father. I know not if it be said truly." "Untruly! Untruly!" he protested earnestly. "He has never found fault with me, sister, on good occasion. But I have enemies, all men have enemies----" "You are like to make more," Roger struck in, with a dark look. The priest wrung his hands. "I know! I know!" he said. "He carries it too highly. Too highly! They say that he has caught the King's governor now, and has him in keeping there." "It is true." "Well, I have warned him; he cannot say I have not!" "And what said he to your warning?" the Abbess asked with a sneer. "He threatened me with the stirrup leathers." "And you are now to marry him?" He turned a shade paler. "You know it?" he gasped. "I know it, but not the time," she answered. And as he hesitated, silent and appalled, "Come," she continued, "the truth, Father. And then I will tell you what I am going to do." "At sunset," he muttered, "I am to be there." "Good," she said. "Now we know. Then you will go up an hour earlier. And I shall go with you." He protested feebly. He knew something of that which had gone before, something of her history, something of her passion for the Captain of Vlaye; and he was sure that she was not bent on good. "I dare not!" he said, "I dare not, sister! You ask too much." "Dare not what?" the Abbess retorted, bending her handsome brows in wrath. "Dare not go one hour earlier?" "But you--you want to go?" "If I go with you, what is that to you?" "But----" "But what, Father, but what?" "You want something of me?" he faltered. He was not to be deceived. "Something dangerous, I know it!"